Desperate Measures
by Ceara Ivory
Summary: Harry Potter, after trying to tell Dumbledore since first year it’s now the beginning of sixth about the abuse at the Dursley’s, he’s finally grown desperate and goes to Voldemort, losing faith in the old headmaster. What will happen to him now? No slash
1. Prologue

Desperate Measures

Written by Chibikan

For all the children and teens who have ever been abused. And for all those who did not survive it, your deaths will not be in vain.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Child Abuse, Violence, Language

Summary: Harry Potter, after trying to tell Dumbledore since first year (it's now the beginning of sixth) about the abuse at the Dursley's, he's finally grown desperate and goes to Voldemort, losing faith in the old headmaster. What will happen to him now?

Prologue:

July 31st, Midnight, Little Hangleton

Lightning flashed and rain poured down outside the old Riddle Manor. Voldemort grinned as he sipped his hot chamomile tea. He greatly enjoyed a good thunderstorm. They were potentially deadly, as was he. He sat in his favorite easy chair, situated directly in front of the window to get a better view. This was better than even the Edgar Allan Poe book which held in his lap. He placed his teacup back on it's saucer and opened to his favorite poem, reading aloud to himself.

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary. Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -- " He stopped, he'd thought he'd heard the sound of bus slamming it's way past. He looked up, and looked out, and saw nothing. Shrugging, he returned to his poem. "While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door --" He peeked up again, having thought he'd seen a figure out in the rain, out of the corners of his eyes. Looking properly, he saw nothing, as before. " 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --" He continued, turning back again to the book. "Only this and…" And he stopped again, he'd definitely seen something, no doubt. Voldemort stood to his feet and went closer to the window for an attempt to see better through the torrential rains. He saw nothing still. "Now, I KNOW I saw SOMETHING." But though he tried, he saw nothing, there was nothing to see. He shook his head. "Voldemort, ol' boy, you're losing your mind." The Dark Lord made to sit down when there came a thump from outside his front door. He marked the page in his book and hurried to the door. He opened it and looked directly in front of him. There was no one, until he looked down. A young boy, with messy black hair he would know anywhere, lay barely conscious and exhausted. "Potter?"

AN: Another cry against child abuse. Please read.

KUDOS IF YOU CAN GUESS THE TITLE AND AUTHOR OF THE POEM


	2. Chapter 1

Desperate Measures

Written by Chibikan

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Child Abuse, Violence, Language

Please visit this link for a video challenge concerning child abuse. The speaker is not me but it is a good petition. Remove spaces: http://www . youtube . com /watch?vF10EKfze6WU

Chapter One:

What was the boy up to? What was he thinking? This and more ran through the head of the Dark Lord.

The panting teen looked up with hurting eyes that seemed to send a message on their own. It was simple, he was there for help, was the message he received and understood. Voldemort bent down and lifted the boy up and carried him inside. There he received a closer scrutiny of the boy, when he lay him on the sofa. Potter's arm hung at an odd angle by his side, his right leg was clearly broken, bad, the bone was poking out of the flesh and blood coated pant leg, and it already appeared to be gangrenous, this had happened a WHILE ago. He, who shouldn't have cared, this was a good way to be rid of the brat for good, but he did care, because while normally he would not have, someone should have. Where was his bodyguards when this happened? This was not the doing of any of his, no, the injuries were far too muggle-related. Their spells were advanced enough not to leave so much evidence, evidence could be traced, and he really didn't want to do any more killings than necessary per day, after all, the Avada Kedavra did serve to tire him out, he wasn't a young wizard anymore. Why had his blasted guards not protected him? That was what they were paid for after all.

"What in the seven levels of Hell happened to you?" He demanded. Harry didn't answer at first, his eyes dropping to the floor. Voldemort grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look back at him. "I said, what…." But he stopped. For the first time he noticed not only a blackened eye, but also a split lip, a gash on his forehead crusted over with old blood and oozing puss from the aforementioned wound. "Never mind, I think I can guess. But why did you come here? Surely that senile old headmaster would have been a better choice. By coming to me, you could have easily sealed your fate."

Harry said nothing but slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment.

Voldemort took the parchment and read it. A letter from the headmaster, it was.

Dear Harry,

I know you want to come to the burrow this year, but it just isn't possible. Voldemort is still after you, you know this. Putting you with the Weasley's just isn't the best course of action. I understand how anxious you are about seeing your friends again, but you mustn't accuse your loving family of such horrid things. I'm sure that if you just tried to get along with them then you'd see they are not so bad at all. Just try harder.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Brian Dumbledore

Voldemort reread the letter with disgust in his eyes. So he HAD tried to seek Dumbledore's help. And Dumbledore hadn't just refused his aid, but had practically called the boy a liar. And so, in his desperation to escape, Potter had sought him instead. He smirked, knowing that Dumbledore had just made a fatal mistake. Potter would not be returning to his side.

"Well, I can completely understand now why. You do know the risks of coming here, but still you came. Your willingness to face the danger is admirable and is to be rewarded. Now, we must take care of your leg and head before the infections grow worse. Then we will set the broken bones." He went to a pot of floo powder and carried a bit to his fireplace. "Hogwarts Dungeon!" He demanded. "Severus, come to me, immediately." He knew Severus would come, he'd used this method many times.

As expected, the Potions Master came through the fire and prostrated himself at the man's feet. "Master, how may I serve you?" He asked, not even raising his head.

"I need your healing abilities today, Severus." The Dark Lord gestured to the suffering boy on the sofa. "Look," he ordered.

Severus, though he tried to, couldn't mask his surprise. "Mr. Potter! What are you doing here?" He knew well that Voldemort couldn't have gotten to Harry himself.

Voldemort answered for the boy. "Clearly, he is not as safe at his relatives as Dumbledore says he is. Oh, perfectly safe from the "likes of me", but, as you can see," He pointed the boy's injuries. "This is what I need you take care of. His leg and his head, first of all. There is clear evidence of gangrene."

Severus eyed the boy. "Why didn't you tell Dumbledore about this?" he asked, obviously getting what the Dark Lord was saying. He was appalled, he'd thought that Potter was a spoiled, arrogant brat, coddled by his family. If Severus had known this, he'd never have given the boy such a difficult time at school, not even he was that cruel. And what was more, he would have been able to help him. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Harry lowered his head. He knew he'd be asked that. And Snape would go tell Dumbledore where he was. And Dumbledore would send a "rescue party" and make him go back to the Dursley's. He couldn't trust Snape with this.

"Forget the why's for now, Severus!" Voldemort hissed. "Just tend to his injuries!"

Severus bowed. "Yes, Milord." Snape waved his wand, silently summoning the necessary potions and silently went about his job. He used a cleansing spell to get rid of the drying blood and the seeping puss and another spell to set the leg and stitch up the wound. He turned his attention now to the gash on his head. Instead of using a spell, he conjured a bowl of warm water and mixed in a healing potion. "Okay, Potter, I'm going to clean your head wound now, it might sting some." He dipped a cloth in the mixture and began gently stroking it on. As he expected Potter winced a little. He sighed. He wouldn't have even needed to use this strong of a potion if the wound had been dealt with much earlier. Head wounds often bleed a lot but look a lot worse than they really are. "Now, Potter, perhaps you can tell me if there is anything else hurting. I've fixed what I could see, except that shiner of yours, but are you in pain anywhere else?" All he got was silence. "Potter, if anything else hurts, you need to tell me." Again, only silence, and he noticed that Potter's head was bowed. "Potter, look at me!" He forced the boy's head up and gasped. There was a large hand shaped bruise on his throat. "Master, did you see this one?"

AN: Where is this new discovery going to lead? Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it took so long.


End file.
